Scary stories I wrote

The Shadows in the Walls

In the heart of a forgotten town stood an ancient manor, its silhouette etched against the sky like a jagged wound. The house, abandoned for decades, sat in brooding silence, its windows like dark, hollow eyes. Overgrown vines clawed at the stone walls, and the door creaked open with a long, agonizing groan when anyone dared to approach.

The air inside was heavy, thick with the scent of damp rot and mildew. Dust hung in the air like ash from some long-dead fire, swirling lazily through the dim beams of moonlight that seeped through the cracked windows. The silence in the house was oppressive, as if the very walls had soaked up every sound, holding onto them like forgotten secrets.

Tonight, Amelia stepped inside.

She had heard the stories growing up-the rumors of what had happened in this place. Dark tales of the family that once lived there, each member vanishing one by one, until the house itself seemed to swallow them whole. Some said they were still there, trapped between the walls, whispering in the dark. Amelia didn't believe in such things... at least, not until now.

The floorboards groaned beneath her feet as she moved deeper into the house, each step sending a shiver down her spine. The shadows here felt wrong, unnatural. They seemed to cling to her, following her every movement, stretching and distorting as if alive. Her flashlight flickered, casting brief flashes of light that only seemed to make the darkness around her more oppressive.

She turned down a narrow hallway, the wallpaper peeling away in strips, revealing the raw, crumbling stone beneath. The air was colder here, biting, and her breath came out in white puffs. As she approached a door at the end of the hall, a deep, low creaking echoed through the house-like something massive shifting behind the walls.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob, her skin prickling with unease. As she turned it, the door swung open with a hollow clunk, revealing a room bathed in an unnatural darkness. The corners of the room seemed to writhe, the shadows there too thick, too deep, like pools of black ink. The walls were marked with long, jagged scratches, as if something had tried to claw its way out.

Amelia's eyes were drawn to the center of the room where an old mirror hung, cracked down the middle. The glass was foggy, but there was something behind it, something moving. She stepped closer, her pulse quickening. The reflection showed not her, but the dim outline of figures-thin, gaunt, their eyes wide and hollow, their mouths twisted into silent screams. They writhed, their hands pressed against the glass from the other side, their nails scraping soundlessly.

Her breath caught in her throat as one of the figures in the mirror turned its head slowly toward her. Its eyes, black as the void, locked onto hers. Then, its lips moved, mouthing something that sent ice flooding through her veins.

"Help us."

Suddenly, the air in the room grew heavy-too heavy. The walls seemed to close in, and the shadows began to writhe, creeping up the walls like black tendrils, reaching for her. The figures in the mirror pressed harder, their faces contorting with desperation, their hands slapping the glass, though no sound came through.

Amelia stumbled back, her heart pounding in her ears, but the shadows had already moved to block the door. They slithered toward her, dark and formless, whispering in voices too low to understand, but filled with malice. She felt them touch her, cold and invasive, seeping into her skin like a sickness.

A sudden, hollow thud echoed through the house, vibrating the walls. Then another. Louder. It came again and again, a rhythmic pounding that seemed to come from all around her. The walls shuddered, groaning under some unseen pressure.

The mirror shattered.

The glass exploded outward, cutting through the air like shards of ice. Behind the mirror, a gaping void opened, a black maw that pulsed with a sickening energy. From it, the figures crawled, dragging themselves out one by one. Their limbs were too long, too thin, their faces stretched in unnatural expressions of anguish. They moved like broken marionettes, jerking and twitching, their empty eyes fixed on her.

Amelia tried to scream, but the darkness stole her breath. One of the figures reached her, its cold, skeletal hand brushing her cheek, leaving a trail of icy numbness in its wake. Its mouth opened, blacker than the void, and a voice like the scraping of stone against stone whispered, "You'll never leave."

She was frozen, unable to move, as the shadows swarmed her, dragging her toward the gaping hole in the wall. The pounding grew louder, faster, as if the house itself had a heartbeat, and it was racing in anticipation of her fate.

The last thing she saw was the darkness engulfing her, the figures pulling her into the void. The house went silent again, as it had always been.

But now, if you listen closely at night, you can hear her faint whispers through the walls-calling for help, just like the others.

And no one will ever answer.

Word count not including this: 867